Rough Waters
by YoureADemigodKatniss
Summary: To Captain Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase is just another captive, another ransom. But as Percy faces his worst fears, he comes to terms with her feisty demeanor and her penchant for wanderlust. As they combat forces of unspeakable evil side by side, they come to rely on one another. But do they just perceive each other as comrades, or will their relationship grow beyond friendship?
1. A New Conquest

**A/N: Helloooo lovely readers! This is the first story on our account, but we hope to write more. Please don't get frustrated if the updates are inconsistent. We have lives too (believe it or not, seeing as we're on a fanfiction site...). Also, we're trying to update as often as possible, so the proofreading might not be completely comprehensive.**

**We appreciate every single review, follow, and favorite. As soon as we make it past the awkward characterization chapters, we'll start posting the good stuff. This first chapter might be a bit boring, but it'll get better, we promise.**

**Cheers,**

**C and K (the co-authors of this story)**

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Annabeth groaned in frustration as she untangled knot after knot in her waist-length curly blonde hair, swept every which way across her face by the wind off the ocean. She'd long debated chopping off her locks, but her father and sisters refused to let her do such an "ungodly deed". Then again, her sisters and herself were as different as night and day.

They were identical triplets, with ebony hair and eyes the brightest of blue. They were about as gorgeous as they were conceited and dull. Their beauty attracted many suitors from across the country, but many left after realizing how petty and, well... stupid the girls were.

Annabeth longed to have the beauty of her sisters, but chided herself for envying them. She was lucky to even be taken in by the Duke and his wife at all. They were kind to her and taught her how to act like a respectable woman. Had they not taken her in, she would've died on the streets many years ago.

The cold air bit at Annabeth's cheeks and numbed her fingers. Her plain royal blue dress offered no protection against the harsh conditions of sea travel. She'd been on the Orient a few times before, but didn't much care for sea travel. Annabeth's father, Duke Frederick, said that the Orient was the finest ship in the fleet, that it cut through the water like a knife through butter. The ships all felt the same to Annabeth, however, with the same rocking rhythm of the waves beating against the sides of the hull. She wasn't much of a seafarer. In fact, she hated all travel on the ocean, but her father insisted upon bringing her along. They had been sailing for nearly a fortnight.

From the crow's nest Annabeth heard a shout. "Ship on the horizon!"

Her heart quickened in her chest. What if they were pirates? Pirates haunted her dreams with their briny breath and scruffy beards and faces riddled with scars. Annabeth was terrified of pirates, even though she had never met any.

Calm down, fool, Annabeth thought to herself. It was probably just another merchant ship looking to trade before docking in port. Perhaps father could acquire a comb to put up this wretched hair, Annabeth thought.

She squinted at the distant ship, trying to make out any details, but without a telescope, it was difficult to see anything other than a dull brown blur.

* * *

Captain Percy Jackson stood in the crow's nest of his ship, the Neptune. His shirt clung tightly to his front, stuck there by the harsh winds that swept tiny drops of water into his face. Percy didn't mind.

Some would've gotten tired of it after a while; the tireless rhythm of life on the sea, the endless crash of wave after wave against the Neptune. But it never grew old to Percy. Every day brought a new challenge, a new adventure, a new…

…a new conquest, he thought to himself as his gaze fell upon a familiar shape on the horizon. It was plainly a ship, one of Duke Frederick's fleet, judging by the emblem on the sail. If he squinted, he could just barely make out the words "The Orient" inscribed on the hull. Duke Frederick's ship sailed towards his own at an alarming rate, and Percy couldn't help but smile slightly at the idea of a raid on one of the Duke's vessels. Abandoning his spot in the crow's nest, he clambered down one of the shrouds to the deck, sliding the last few feet down the loosely woven rope and landing clumsily on the perennially shifting deck. He stood up to his full height, felt the briny wind pull back his hair. Moments like these, with his feet planted firmly on the splintering deck, surveying the vast expanse of ocean before him, were when Percy felt most powerful. He allowed himself to catch his breath before yelling over his shoulder. "Nico! Grover! Wake the crew." He glared in disdain at the Duke's ship. "One of the Duke's fleet was foolish enough to trespass on our territory. And everyone knows these waters belong to us. Let's teach 'em a lesson, shall we?"

He only had to wait a matter of seconds before he heard the distinctive sound of his first mate, Grover Underwood, running towards him at full speed. He didn't have to turn around to know it was him; he recognized the dull click of Grover's peg leg against the deck. Below him, he could faintly make out the sounds of his crew waking up, yelling to each other, preparing for a fight.

Grover sidled up to him, a hopeful smirk plastered across his face. "It's one of Duke Frederick's finest schooners, Captain. And from what I can see, there may well be some of the royal family aboard. His daughters are some o'the finest wenches in the land…" Grover trailed off, starry-eyed. He'd always been something of a hopeless romantic. Percy, on the other hand, had never paid much interest to women. He just couldn't see the appeal. He'd decided long ago that love was for men much weaker than himself. However, he couldn't pass up the chance for fathomless treasure, which Duke Frederick was sure to have aboard his schooner. Plus, raiding the Duke's ship would be an opportunity to one-up the royal family, and in doing so, he'd show all the pretentious, snobby, upper-class mainlanders who was superior.

Percy was harshly snapped out of his reverie by the arrival of Tyson, his boatswain and (though he wouldn't admit it to most) half-brother. Tyson thundered out of one of the hatches, somehow managing to get tangled in a pile of fishing nets and promptly falling on his face. Percy turned away from him, torn between affection and embarrassment. His half-brother was devoted to him, and he'd saved Percy's life on more than one occasion. But still, he couldn't help but be glad that they didn't share the same surname, because if people knew that he was related to Tyson… well… his reputation would be even more sullied than it was now.

Tyson jumped to his feet, easily shaking the tangle of loose ropes off of his ankles. "I'm okay!" he exclaimed with the enthusiasm of a much younger boy. Tyson beamed up at his captain with his one good eye. (The other one was concealed beneath a threadbare eyepatch-no more than a shred of calico cloth, really-that looked like Tyson had made it himself.) Percy smiled stiffly back at him.

In Tyson's wake came Nico di Angelo, the youngest of the crew. He scowled at Grover and Tyson from beneath a scruffy maelstrom of spiky black hair, stiffened from months of seawater and sweat, but when he saw Percy his posture straightened and he gazed at his captain with a look of pure reverence. "Captain Jackson." Nico stated in a voice laced with a slight Italian accent. "What's this about the Duke's schooner?"

Percy gestured out towards the ship, and Nico whipped out a telescope from his waistband and squinted into the lens. "Aye" he murmured. "That's Frederick's. The Orient, it says. I've heard plenty about 'er. Heard she sails smoother than any ship you've ever seen." He gave a low whistle. "I can't say they're wrong. That's some fine craftsmanship." He moved the telescope lower. "And-hey, that's the royal seal on the hull. That mean's it's of some importance… say, you don't think the Duke's on that ship?" He sheathed his telescope, his eyes shining with boyish excitement.

Percy couldn't help but be hopeful, though he knew the chances of Duke Frederick sailing straight to him were nearly impossible. "Let's not get our hopes up, di Angelo. Wait…" Percy's excitement turned to confusion, laced with undertones of dread. "Why aren't they stopping?"

And indeed, the schooner was still fast approaching, its wake growing thinner and thinner as it neared the Neptune. Grover spoke from where he was stationed at the wheel. "D'you… d'you think they know that this is Captain Jackson's ship?"

It dawned on Percy that they weren't running up the Jolly Roger. "Our flag isn't up. We probably look like any merchant's ship." Percy chuckled at the thought. "And they're coming towards our starboard side. The ship's name is printed on the port. They wouldn't be able to see that it's the Neptune they're sailing towards. They probably think we're a bunch of commoners, and they're looking to trade for supplies or some such." Percy stopped to look back at the Orient, and a plan came to him, as sudden as a northern storm. "Alright, come about! . We're not just gonna attack these poor sods and get it over with. If we're gonna make the most of this raid, here's what we're gonna do..."

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**Oooooooh, suspense! Okay, not that much, but oh well. We're planning on writing some more interesting scenes in the next chapter, and it should get way more exciting within the next few chapters. Enjoy!**

**Reviews are free samples at Costco!**

**-C and K**


	2. You'll Be Asking Leave Of Me

**A/N: Okay, as promised, there are plenty more interesting scenes in this chapter. Our two lovebirds finally meet (though they hate each other right now...) Enjoy!**

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Annabeth watched the nearing merchant ship with vague interest, mostly because it was the only thing that changed on the horizon. She was sick of the same view every day. Ocean, ocean, and a bit more ocean.

Eventually Annabeth tired of standing with the wind tearing at her, so she wandered back below decks and into her cabin, where she promptly picked up a bit of charcoal and began to draw on the rough walls. Surely her father would be furious, but it was only fair, since she was furious with him for imprisoning her on this god-forsaken ship anyway.

She drew towers and people and ships and instruments and whatever else came to mind. When one wall was nearly full, Annabeth shifted to the door and sketched a design for a castle courtyard. Annabeth had always had a passion for design and architecture, but the Duke suggested she study more "womanly" things, like needlepoint and other stiflingly boring practices. But Annabeth often stole away to the Grand Library to read about architecture and design anyway.

Annabeth had just finished shading the bricks of an archaic stone wall when a sharp rap on her door pierced the silence. She jumped, startled out of her abstraction.

One of the kitchen workers opened the door, apologizing feebly before delivering the message he had come for.

"M'am, there are merchant traders aboard. The Duke wishes for you to stay in your room until told to leave." The boy, barely older than Annabeth, gazed briefly at her drawings across the cabin walls before excusing himself. Annabeth heard the click of a lock and groaned with frustration at her situation. She was locked in her room with nothing to do and nowhere to go.

* * *

After a small eternity, _the Orient _grew close enough to signal. Percy ran the King's flag instead of his own, luring the Duke's ship closer. Once Percy and his crew had lined up the wooden planks between the ships, they crossed onto the pristine deck of _the Orient_. Percy had to marvel at the intricate carvings on the mast and stern head, but he shook himself. There was no time for that. His crew needed to be on and off as quickly as possible. He drew his sword apprehensively. Percy's fingers felt the ridges on the hilt of the sword, where the word "Riptide" had been engraved in Ancient Greek, as "Anaklusmos".

Percy, along with some others, circled the deck, examining the crew members, too. Nico and one of the _Orient_ sailors were having a conversation. Some of the crew did the same for the other _Orient_ sailors to distract them, as planned. When Percy gave the word, they would attack, hopefully with no casualties. Percy wasn't a killing sort of pirate.

Percy paused, made sure everyone was in place, and whistled loudly, signaling the start of their attack on the unsuspecting sailors. Cries rang out from across the deck as Percy's crew easily bested the Duke's petty sailors.

After securing _the Orient_'s sailors to the mast, Percy strode leisurely over to the hatch, internally elated at the thought of the gold below, and gestured for his crew to come along with a flick of his wrist. They followed quickly, newly acquired weapons clanking by their sides. After climbing down the steep stairs, Percy turned down the hall and kicked one of the doors. He heard a yelp of surprise and chuckled inwardly. After jiggling the door handle for a few seconds, Percy knocked on the door.

"Who's there? I can't open up, the door has been locked from the outside," a clear female voice called from inside.

"Damn it all!" Percy muttered under his breath. He supposed they would kick down the door. Then perhaps, if the woman was of any importance, they would keep her as a hostage.

He motioned for the others to stand back, and kicked the door forward, hard, and heard a shout of indignation from inside. One of the hinges splintered, but it wasn't enough. If only Tyson were here, Percy thought. He would've destroyed the door in a millisecond.

Percy kicked again, and this time, the other hinge fell away completely, allowing the door to be pushed in easily. He stepped over the detritus and into the cramped quarters, noticing how the walls were alive with drawings in charcoal. There, sitting on the bed, was a maiden, no older than Percy himself, perhaps a mite younger, with wild blonde hair and tenebrous ocean-grey eyes. She was pretty, he thought.

"Grab the wench." he said.

Her eyebrows shot up, and she made to stand up and resist, but she was far too slow. The Stoll brothers had already seized her arms and secured them behind her back. She struggled to rip one of her arms free.

"Who—do you think—you brutish—miscreants—are—accosting me like this?!" the girl said, in between wild twisting motions. She looked rather deranged; a feral creature, snarling wildly.

But there was something that tugged at Percy. He knew she wasn't just another small-minded wench with flaxen hair; no, there was power in her eyes, visible in her expression. Her eyes seemed to say, "give me a reason not to throttle you." Unfortunately for the maiden, she hadn't much of a chance against Percy's crew, especially not in that frippery she was wearing.

"What do you plan to do with me?" the maiden asked calmly. "If you wish my death, make it quick. If you wish otherwise, we may yet strike a deal."

Percy cocked his head at her, stared quizzically for a moment, then laughed lightly.

"Don't be telling me what I'm to do. Remember which one of us is holding a sword." Percy said dangerously.

"If you intend to kidnap me, my father the Duke will have you all hanged."

Percy smiled. "By this time, your father the Duke will have been seized by my crew as well." Percy made eye contact with the Stoll brothers, who still held a no-longer-struggling maiden. "Bring her up to the deck. We'll decide what to do with her then."

* * *

Annabeth felt herself being marched up to the deck. Her stomach felt hollow yet heavy with dread. It was important that she didn't let on that she was terrified. These mysterious sailors already had an advantage.

On the deck, Annabeth saw her father being held by a few other sailors.

"Annabeth," he said dully, more a statement than a cry or exclamation.

"That be tha name o' you then, wench? Annie-_beth_?" One of her captors, a tall curly-headed man, asked jeeringly.

Annabeth stuck her chin out pridefully. "Annabeth Chase, daughter of Duke Frederick," she corrected.

"Blimey! The lass be the daughter of the bloody Duke!" The other said mockingly, "We best be throwin' her in the jolly boat and sendin' her home!" The two, probably siblings, threw their heads back and laughed.

"Save yer blasted 'social status', wench. It'll do ya no help here."

Still, Annabeth resisted the urge to cower, and instead turned to the man evidently in charge, the one with messy ebony-colored hair, wavy like the sea.

"Who are you miscreants, and who gave you leave to accost us aboard our own ship?" the Duke asked, furious.

"I ask leave of no man. My name is Captain Percy Jackson of the pirate ship the _Neptune_. And if you value your worthless life, you'll be asking leave of _me_," the Captain snarled.

_He_ was a captain? A _pirate_ captain? Annabeth had never pictured a pirate to be so... well... never mind what she pictured; the Captain didn't fit the image.

"What do you want in exchange for the ship and my safety?" The Duke asked tentatively.

"I'll be taking every last ounce of gold on this ship, as well as a hostage." The Captain continued with a smug smile, "If you oblige, I will guarantee you a safe passage back into port with your ship and crew intact."

The Duke considered the offer. "Which of us would you hold hostage?"

The Captain paced leisurely, waiting for the Duke to forget his dignity and beg for his life, or his daughter's lives, or his gold. He'd been waiting to establish dominance over the Duke for years.

"I imagine your daughter here will bring us a hearty ransom in port. That is, if we allow her to be taken back."

Annabeth's heart quickened, and she flushed with fear.

The Duke looked at her with a pained expression, clearly weighing the choices.

Annabeth caught his gaze with desperate eyes. "Father, leave me."

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**Okayyyyyyy, that was fun. We hope you liked reading this as much as we enjoyed writing it. ****FYI: Annabeth gets sassy in the next chapter... no spoilers!**

**Reviews are better than chocolate! Though, if you give us chocolate we'll be satisfied too...**

**-C and K**


	3. A Message

**A/N: Prepare for some Annabeth sass... mua-ha-ha-ha! You'll have to read to the end to find it. Enjoy!**

* * *

Well. Percy had never expected the lass, Annabeth, to have been so willing to be taken. He expected more of a struggle, mainly on the part of the Duke. He didn't seem conflicted enough about the capture and imminent ransom of his youngest daughter. Maybe he should've chosen another of the Duke's children. Percy would've loved to see the Duke get down on his knees and beg for Percy to take him instead, or at least squirm a little. _The Duke should've at least been thankful that I took pity on him, or else his head would be hanging off the mast,_ Percy thought bitterly. But he knew this wasn't quite true. Try as he might, Percy couldn't stomach the thought of killing. Sometimes the pirate lifestyle seemed more like a curse than a blessing.

Annabeth, however, was not as passive as her father, to Captain Jackson's dismay. Annabeth kicked his crew whenever she was sent into her cabin and locked away, bruising them all profusely before they eventually cornered her and locked her in. But this was all to be expected; none of Captain Jackson's captives had ever complied with his wishes, and they had all rebelled with different levels of passivity. He didn't truly accept how much of a handful the Duke's youngest daughter was until about a week after her capture.

It was a morning like any other, the melodic crash of waves against the hull waking Percy from his dreamless slumber. It was the first night in a month's time that he hadn't had the same nightmare, the one where his ship was overrun by ghostly, waiflike pirates, led by a familiar figure; Captain Luke Castellan, who had once sailed under the Jolly Roger alongside Percy. However, Castellan's idea of an ideal pirate differed from Percy's. Percy, at least, had the slightest sense of compassion. Luke would kill anyone necessary in order to get what he wanted, be it his worst enemy or his own kin. In Percy's dream, Castellan was hell-bent on obtaining Percy's most prized possession; a pendant, shaped like a tiny glass bottle and containing a weathered scroll. Percy had been told of its importance, and that he should protect it with his life, but he'd never been told why. And now Castellan wanted it, needed it, craved it with a madness that made Percy genuinely afraid. Percy knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Castellan wouldn't stop until Percy was dead.

But the nightmare was forgotten, and Percy leisurely rolled out of his unmade four-poster bed, yawned broadly, and broke into a grin. He was eager to see if any of the Duke's messengers had sent him offers of ransom. He reckoned he'd probably return Annabeth to them for a reasonably low price. After all, he only wanted to humiliate the Duke, and he'd succeeded in doing that.

He decided to see how his hostage was doing. After all, he'd be in over his head if she died, or was seriously injured. So he tossed some of their supply of hardtack and broth into a crudely carved bowl, and meandered below deck to to her cabin, at the far end of the ship. He didn't get very far, however, because the short corridor leading to her cabin was packed with his frantically whispering crew.

"What is the meaning of this?" bellowed Percy, pushing through the crowd. His crowd parted like the Red Sea to let him through, and Percy saw the cause of the commotion. The door to Annabeth's cabin, as well as the floor, walls, and ceiling surrounding it, was covered in intricate charcoal sketches. Endless swirls of smoky ebony adorned the floorboards and swarmed up the walls, reminding Percy of the sea during a storm. Calligraphy stained every available inch of space; most of it illegible, but some of it clearly spelling out profanities that made Percy's jaw drop. Tiny charcoal cities sprawled onto the floor, sketches of buildings and structures so fantastical they seemed to defy gravity, all drawn in perfect and precise detail. Percy was awestruck, albeit terrified. And at the center of the masterpiece were three words, scrawled in uneven, heavy-handed script: _Let me go._

Percy turned to face his crew, only to find them terrified, frozen to the spot. Tyson clutched at Nico like he was a doll, and the Stoll brothers frantically whispered to each other. Percy's crew were the most reckless, lionhearted men to sail the seven seas, but they were also incredibly superstitious. Percy didn't allow himself to succumb to such petty fears, but his crew was terrified of the most trivial old wives tales. Even a storm at midnight, or an albatross landing on their ship, was considered bad luck and a sure omen of their imminent demise.

Grover tugged on Percy's sleeve. "Captain, a vengeful spirit be hauntin' our ship! A specter! An apparition! A wraith intent to sink us to Davy Jones' locker! We'll capsize, Captain! We're doomed!"

Percy would never admit it to his crew, but the terrifying charcoal masterpiece was frightening him too. "Alright, mates, there's got to be some logical explanation for this," he reasoned, though a logical explanation seemed unlikely.

And then, right as Percy was on the brink of panic, he heard a door creak open behind him. He turned to face the sound, coming from the door of Annabeth's cabin, and what he saw there made his jaw drop in mixed bewilderment, shame, and amusement.

Annabeth stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a sly smirk on her face. Her forearms were covered in charcoal, there were black smudges streaked across her smug face, and she clearly couldn't have been more pleased.

'Well, well, well. The fearsome Captain Jackson, scared of a few pretty drawings." she chuckled, and turned around to face her quarters. "And by the way, it doesn't wash out."

And then she was gone, leaving Percy awestruck.

* * *

_The night before…_

Annabeth leaned over her small bucket, for what seemed to be the hundredth time that night, and prepared herself for the coming onslaught of seasickness. She gripped the edge of her worn wooden bed with her fingertips, fighting the oncoming nausea, but it didn't come. She waited another minute, but the worst of her discomfort seemed to be over.

Annabeth pushed back a few strands of sticky hair from her clammy forehead, and sat up slowly. She remained in that position for a minute or two more so as not to aggravate her stomach. Then, after an agonizing wait, she stood, and picked up the few sticks of charcoal she had stashed in her corset just minutes before her capture. _Her corset._ Annabeth quickly unlaced the back of her dress and strenuously took out the ribbon from each hole in the sides of the painful contraption. When she finally rid herself of the god-forsaken thing, she breathed a sigh of relief, and laced her dress back up again.

Picking up the charcoal again, Annabeth set to work on the walls of her cabin, drawing anything that came to mind, and creating strange creatures out of her imagination. Time seemed to move at a neck-breaking speed, as she finished the final wall of her room and moved on to the hallway.

She filled the entirety of the hall with intricate waves and sketches, sprawling across the whole corridor. When she had completed most of the work, her hand was cramped and sore and she had lost the resolve to draw any more. So, instead, Annabeth added one final touch, a message to her captors for the following morning. _A job well done,_ Annabeth thought to herself as she dusted off her dress and hands proudly.

* * *

**Okay, the Annabeth sass is real. We hope you enjoyed!**

**Reviews are chicken nuggets!**

**-C and K**


	4. Partner in Crime

**A/N: Prepare yourself for a short chapter. It's important, but we didn't want it to drag. It stands alone fairly well, though. Enjoy!**

* * *

The next few days were hell for Annabeth. She had warned Captain Jackson and his crew that the charcoal wouldn't wash off; yet the captain made her spend hours scrubbing away her beautiful work. As Annabeth predicted, the drawings only darkened and smudged, leaving cloudy splotches on the varnished wood.

As Annabeth scrubbed, she thought about what would've happened had she not been shanghaied by Captain Jackson. She'd probably be in port, locked in her cabin on _the Orient_, adding more charcoal to her walls. Safe, albeit bored out of her mind. Life on _the Neptune_ was far more interesting, if not more tiring than on her father's ship.

Annabeth was startled out of her abstraction when she heard a strange slamming noise. She turned quickly, and found, at her side, a stack of parchment and a pair of shoes. Those shoes were in fact attached to a pair of legs, and those legs were attached to a body. Annabeth looked up into the face of a young curly-haired man, scarcely older than herself, grinning down at her.

"Try drawing on these instead of the walls next time, lass. You'll only anger the captain more." The man smiled cordially, but Annabeth noticed a twinkle of juvenescent mischief in his eyes. Somehow, it made her want to trust him even more.

"I… er… thank you," Annabeth spluttered, nonplussed at his abrupt outreach of kindness.

"The name's Stoll," the man said cheerfully. "Connor Stoll. But don't mistake me for me brother Travis. He's a mite older."

"I–I won't, sir." Annabeth agreed.

"Connor," Connor corrected.

"I won't, Connor."

Connor smiled warmly again, and gestured to the parchment stack. "Suggest you stash tha' in yer bed, under the mat so's it won't be spotted by the Cap'n."

"Alright," said Annabeth, not sure how to respond otherwise.

There was a comfortable silence between the two, until Connor spoke up again.

"You got guts for standin' up to the Cap'n like tha', Beth. Drawing on the walls!" He whistled, then chuckled amusedly. "I think I've just found my new par'ner-in-crime! I'm a bit of a joker myself, ya see." Annabeth nodded appreciatively.

Connor leaned down suddenly, and spoke in a low voice. "Don't mention to the cap'n tha' I was here, a'right? S'pose he won't be too keen on me 'befriendin' the hostage' or summat." He winked.

"Don't worry, I won't." Annabeth promised.

Connor beamed. Before he walked away, he turned and said, "Not all of us hafta be your enemy. It'll do ye good to make a couple a' friends 'round here." Annabeth nodded, feeling significantly better than before. Connor darted out of Annabeth's view and back up to the deck.

For the first time since before her capture, she felt legitimately cheerful. Perhaps things weren't going to be so bad on the Neptune. Annabeth began whistling to herself, a bouncy little melody she remembered from her sister's music box. That music box was a beautiful thing, carved out of fine rosewood with a little spinning dancer inside. The tune reminded Annabeth of sunny days and lazy afternoons, spent reading or sketching in the Grand Library.

After a while, the whistling turned to humming as Annabeth scrubbed at black smudges on the glossy wood.

Soon enough, she began to write rhymes to go with the melody.

_The Captain is so harsh on me,  
he just won't seem to let me be.  
So I drew on his walls,  
through the cabin and halls,  
and now I wish that I was free…_

Annabeth smiled, proud of her playful composition. Yes, things were definitely looking up for her at the moment.

* * *

**Aaaaaaannddd… DONE! Sorry for the much shorter chapter, I just wanted to establish a bond between a minor character and Annabeth.**

**FYI: Connabeth isn't gonna happen, don't worry.**

**Thank you all so much for reading, following, and reviewing. It really does mean a lot! We've got some interesting things planned for the next few chapters, and hopefully we'll finally get the plot moving a bit quicker, so stay tuned!**

**Reviews are dark chocolate mints!**

**-C and K**

**TO THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE DEDICATED ENOUGH TO READ UP TO HERE:**

**I'm writing a Percy/Sally reunion oneshot that takes place after the _Blood of Olympus, _since Rick didn't! It's in Percy's regular world. It'll be coming soon, so be sure to follow my account or check in for it soon! Once again: thank you all so much for the support!**


	5. News?

**A/N: So here's another short chapter. Just a time-killer until we can write a real update. Sorry for the initial upload error, all the computer coding was included in the chapter, which sucks, so... sorry about that, it's fixed now! Also, we'll be answering some questions about the story in the author's note at the bottom.**

**Recap:**

**Lady Annabeth Chase, nineteen years old, is shanghaied onto _the Neptune_, a pirate ship run by Captain Percy Jackson. She decides to retaliate by graffiti-ing with charcoal in the corridors of the ship, leading the crew to believe that the ship is haunted. Percy is unfazed, since his crew are extremely superstitious. To the crew's dismay, Annabeth was behind the scheme. Connor Stoll, a crew member, befriends Annabeth shortly after.**

* * *

Not much changed on the Neptune after Annabeth befriended Connor, except for the occasional wink or extra piece of hardtack from Connor, or a smile and a wave from Annabeth.

About a week after their friendship began, Connor entered Annabeth's quarters with a message.

"Beth, I've got news."

"Do not call me Beth. Wait, news?" Annabeth tilted her head with interest.

"The Captain's docking in port, and he says that if I accompany you, you can hop off for an hour or so!" Connor was practically jumping with excitement.

Annabeth beamed. "This is wonderful new, Connor, I've been yearning for fresh air since I got on this ship!"

Connor paused, then scowled confusedly. "Whad'ya mean, fresh air? The air in port smells like dung and animal entrails. You ain't get no fresher air than here a' sea."

"Well, air that isn't tainted with the scent of seawater."

"You sayin' you don't like tha' salty smell?" Connor faked hurt, clutching at his chest dramatically. Annabeth giggled rather uncharacteristically.

"Let's go, then!"

"Not yet, we still got another few hours or so. But," Connor paused and winked, "It'd go a mite faster if you'd come above and help out wit' the crew. Consider yourself lucky, lass. The Cap'n is never so relaxed wi' a hostage. Right now, a hostage would usually be pumpin' ou' the bilge water or summat, not relaxin' in their quarters like a queen. Dunno wha's up wit' the Captain a' late, he's so calm about ye..."

"I am a Lady, Connor. Lady Annabeth Chase. It's no surprise that he treats me as such." Annabeth stumbled as she attempted a graceful curtsy in her ragged dress.

"Oh, and while we're docked, we'll be needin' ta get you some real clothes. Breeches and boots. I imagine that the Cap'n will give us a bit for spendin'. Now c'mon on deck!"

Annabeth and Connor scrambled up to the deck to help the crew, and in due time, the faintest sliver of land could be seen on the horizon.

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**Okay, like I said, it was gonna be short... I might merge it with the previous chapter later on.**

**But I thought that I'd use this chapter to answer some important questions instead!**

**So, people have been asking a few questions in the reviews, so I thought I'd answer them as well as provide some more background information****.**

**Q:_ Are they still demigods?_**

**A: No, they are mortals, but we (my co-author and I) tried to make them as similar to their canon characters as possible anyway. This is an Alternate Universe fanfiction.**

**Q: _When will they start to fall in love?_**

**A: Eventually :) They'll stop fighting pretty soon then slowly become friends, and so on. It's not gonna be a straightforward plot.**

**Q: _Will any of the characters be OOC?_**

**A: We plan on writing pretty canon characters, except for maybe a bitchy (bartender?) Rachel, but we haven't decided yet :)**

**Q:_ Will you do a SYOC (Submit Your Own Character)?_**

**A: Maybe at some point. We might add a SYOC for either a crew member or another supporting character. No promises though.**

**That's it for this abnormally long Author's Note. Leave a question in the reviews, or just what you think so far! Thank you all so much.**

**Review are dark chocolate!**

**-C and K**


	6. Enough

**A/N: Yeah, yeah, it's been a month, we're super sorry!**

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Percy Jackson had felt his fair share of pain. He was raised on it, growing up with bruises ceaselessly imprinted on his back from long days of climbing trees and falling off horses and constantly tripping over his own feet. He had thought it would stop, or at least diminish, when he assembled his crew and first took to the ocean. But after days and days of trying to adapt to a life on the open sea, after countless nights of seasickness; memorizing the feeling of sea-tarnished wood against his face after he'd stumbled and fallen face-first onto the deck; of spending long and dreary nights being pounded by rain from storms rolling over the sea followed by mornings when he was filled with aching bones and regret, unable to do anything but lay in his bed and try to synchronize his heartbeat with the ebb and pull of the waves, he'd come to the conclusion that pain was a consequence of living. That had not changed since he'd become one of the most revered (and feared) pirate captains to fly the Jolly Roger. Pain was just a side effect.

He wasn't any stranger to joy either, nor camaraderie. His crew gave him that, along with the fathomless treasure he looted and coveted. And he never grew tired of the thrill that seafaring brought him. He'd even known lust a fair few times, when one of the more head-turning young wenches at the pubs he occasionally frequented batted their eyes and commented on his rakish attire and roguish demeanor.

And terror. Especially terror, as he'd been on both the giving and the receiving end. Fear was a language in which he was all too well-versed. But these were all emotions he was accustomed to knowing. These were things you could feel with confidence, with a sure-footed knowing of what was going on. Joy, lust, even pain… these were all things he could control.

But as Percy lay spread-eagled on the sea-soaked Persian rug in his cabin, he felt something unknown, something more uncharted than the seas he sailed. Confusion, perhaps. He simply couldn't pin this Annabeth lass down. One second she was meek, timid, stuck to the walls like a shadow. And the next she was staining his beloved _Neptune _with her charcoal without paying mind to the consequences; talking back to Percy like he was a disobedient child; laughing and joking with Connor like they were old friends… or worse, sweethearts. Percy sat bolt upright. Were Annabeth and Connor making some sort of connection?

But Percy, for some reason, wasn't angry. Another uncharted feeling swept through him, settling somewhere in the cavity of his chest, hollowing him out like newly carved wood and making him feel like he was on the middle of a capsizing rowboat in the middle of a storm. His stomach seemed to have jumped ship, leaving him vaguely winded. He'd found his sea legs years before, but everything about Annabeth made him stumble, though he never seemed all too graceful to start. Her voice, harsh in the way that an apprentice pirate is harsh with his first cutlass; with equal measures of danger and uncertainty. The way she moved with confidence on his ship, despite her claims of hating the sea.

And he couldn't deny that she was beautiful. Her flaxen locks reflected the careless, messy, and unpredictable aspects of her personality, her skin practically glowed even with the subpar conditions that were a side effect of the seafaring life, and her eyes… Percy had never been one to romanticize any aspect of a lass, let alone her eyes, but Annabeth's eyes… They left him breathless, without direction, stranded without the aid of his impeccable sense of direction, not sure where to go or what to say. They reminded him of the sea just after a storm; open, calm (albeit tinged with malicious intent and memories of past turmoil) and framed by cobalt skies. Percy wasn't the type easily swayed by physical appearance, but he could stare into those eyes forever and feel the same euphoria as when he was standing at the bow of his ship, gazing into the fathomless expanse of the sea.

Percy shook himself from his daydream, stumbled to his feet (he couldn't remember the last time he'd lost his balance on a ship. Christ, had Annabeth stolen his grace as well as his sense of direction?) and dragged himself onto the deck. He could see the silhouette of some small village or other in the distance, and the ship was definitely moving in that general direction, but Percy didn't see anyone at the helm. Instead, he found the crew in its entirety, all clustered around… Annabeth. She stood precariously on a stack of crates, her feet spread wide, her elbows sticking out at odd angles, her posture too regal for a girl of her stature, looking almost mockingly haughty. As Percy approached, he caught snippets of what Annabeth was saying. In a low, deep voice that didn't sound at all like her own, Annabeth thundered, "Trim the sails, men! Blah blah, treasure, blah blah and all that!" Her stance spread wider, and she thrust out her hips and scoffed. "This be my ship, and I be the one givin' the orders! Do as I say or face my wrath!" She stumbled faux-drunkenly forward, and mimed swinging an unwieldy cutlass, pulling obscene faces as she did so.

His crewmates were practically rolling on the deck with laughter, and Percy struggled to form a coherent thought around what was happening. Damn her and her ability to stun a man speechless, and her charcoal and her beautiful eyes, and—

"ENOUGH!" Percy roared. A deadly silence followed as Percy's crew halted their mirth abruptly. All eyes were on either Percy or Annabeth. The latter whirled around quickly, and, almost comically, jumped to attention, eyes wide. She practically quivered with fear.

"I consider myself rather prolific in the English language, Miss Chase. However, I am unable to find the right combination of words to express exactly how much I'd enjoy tossing you overboard at the given moment."

Annabeth took a step back, unused to such brash admonishments. Unfortunately, it was a step too far. The crates teetered, and for a stomach-twisting moment, she was suspended perfectly in the air. Then, rather ungracefully, Annabeth became a flurry of arms and legs as she toppled over backwards and landed hard on the deck. The sickening crunch was enough to tell Percy that serious damage had been done.

"Solace!" Percy snapped. William, or Will, Solace skittered through the crowd hurriedly to examine Annabeth, who noiselessly curled in on herself, cradling a wrist gingerly. Will warned the crew to back off, and they obliged. Connor stepped forward, concerned, all former mirth replaced with concern in his eyes. Why was it always him?

Percy had a sudden urge, from God knows where, to run to Annabeth, to bandage her wrist and reassure her that all pain was temporary, to coddle her like she was some pale and sickly maiden. But she wasn't; she was strength and snark and independence; she was brash and stubborn and irritating and self-sufficient and wicked beautiful. So Percy stormed off, attempting to block out Annabeth's fervent cries that _it was okay_, and that _she could set broken bones,_ and that _she could take care of herself_, with his eyes firmly set towards the land ahead, hoping beyond hope that a few drinks could ease his troubles.

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**A/N: What'd you guys think of moody Percy? Do you have any plot ideas? Any questions? Leave them in reviews, or just leave opinions on the chapter because you're nice like that. Which you all are, I'm sure. **

**Should we do an SYOC? Tell us in the reviews!**

**Reviews are everything.**

**-C and K**


	7. New Again

**A/N: Sorry for the wait! Both of us authors have been really busy, and we haven't had time to write much. This chapter is gonna be a bit short, but it's better than nothing.**

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If given the choice between death and meeting Rachel Dare again, Percy probably would have chosen death. Rachel Elizabeth Dare was unbearable. She was a spunky, outrageous, and shamelessly flirtatious wench. Deadly beautiful and deceptively hospitable, thievery was the name of her game. She'd serve a decent lad more than a few drinks, he'd leave his money unattended, and she'd snatch it from right underneath his nose. Percy had fallen prey to her wicked way a few years previous, and it had cost him dearly. He'd set out to the bar before purchasing repair supplies for his ship and she'd snatched every last coin from his pocket, the cheat. Percy's ship had taken a beating the week previous after a particularly nasty bout of weather, and the Neptune had to stay in port for an entire week before the crew managed to scrounge enough supplies to patch the main sail.

Needless to say, Percy had a reason to hate her.

But Rachel was the last thing on Captain Percy Jackson's mind at the moment. He was reeling from the day's events, trying in vain to get his head around Annabeth's misdemeanors. As the ship careened lazily towards the dock, close enough that Percy could make out the faces of the merchants on the shoreline, he turned towards his crew. He was satisfied, albeit unsurprised, that Annabeth and his crew were still ashen-faced from his previous outburst. Surveying the ragtag arrangement of miscreants before him, he reviewed the ground rules for their venture ashore.

"Listen up, mates" Percy bellowed, making sure his voice carried to the furthest reaches of the ship. " I will not tolerate consorting with wenches, 'specially the ones who'll make off with your money and your heart. You can have your fun for a night, but we leave at sunrise. Understood?"

A despondent chorus of "Aye," was the crew's only response. Percy twirled his cutlass, realizing that his crew was still cowering in trepidation, and liking this feeling of inspiring fear in his comrades. "And what's more, if any of you get it in your waterlogged heads to sneak a lass on board, I'll throw the lot of you overboard without a second's thought. Keep a close eye on-" He leered at Annabeth, ignored the wrench in his gut when her eyes met his, and spit out, "that Annie-beth wench."

Perhaps it was his intentional mispronunciation of her name, or maybe it was the spiteful hiss of "wench" that pushed Annabeth over, but Percy could see her eyes well up with tears. Ignoring her, he pressed on. "Anyone asks what she's doing here, just say one of you lot snatched her up from the whorehouse. She does look the part" Annabeth's jaw dropped, and Connor's hand tightened around the hilt of his dagger. Percy immediately regretted what he'd said, and hated himself for showing any signs of remorse. Wasn't he supposed to be a fearless scoundrel with no tolerance for the petty injustices of infidels? Annabeth was turning him soft, and that needed to end, So, with his jaw and his resolve set, he stormed down the gangplank in search of the nearest pub, hoping to find some wench who would take his mind off Annabeth.

The crowd parted easily at the sight of Percy striding through the street, backed closely by sufficiently armed crewmates. The sensation of power made Percy's heart jump with excitement, even after years of the same euphoria.

After a few minutes' time, Percy saw a flash of light in the setting sunlight. Upon further inspection, it appeared to be the iron sign for one of his favorite old pubs, The Red Oak. He nearly cheered at the sight; he was prepared for as many drinks as he could get his hands on. The rest of the crew noticed too, and in another minute they were inside the dimly lit pub.

Laughter echoed from a far corner of the bar, and Percy strode confidently to the table, tapping his fingers on the scratched wood. A waif of a boy scuttled up to Percy and sort of stammered a greeting from across the table. Percy ordered his first (and certainly not his last) drink, then sat himself at a large table which accommodated most of the crewmates who came ashore. A few minutes of idle chatter followed as Percy sipped his brew lackadaisically, watching the other people in the room, and not really participating in any conversation.

Suddenly, he heard it. A bark of obnoxious laughter, much like the cry of a seagull. It was all too familiar. Percy whipped around, and there she was. Rachel Elizabeth Dare, the wench who had nearly cost Percy his entire ship in a cheap grab for his money.

Now, Percy thought himself a reasonable man, and he didn't hold grudges for just anything, but the mere sight of the ginger wench made his fists clench with unadulterated rage.

Annabeth practically skipped with excitement as she strode down the gangplank, dragging Connor behind her by the shirtsleeve. She faltered suddenly; she must be a sight to behold, after so long on a filthy ship with no clean clothing to change into. Annabeth pushed her petty concern to the back of her mind and focused on the opportunity ahead. She reached the end of the gangplank, and scurried to the end of the dock. This was the moment she had lusted over for so long, the feel of solid land beneath her feet…

Annabeth placed her feet firmly on the dirt road, and stepped confidently forward, only to lose her balance on shaky legs. Connor laughed as she stumbled, and caught her easily.

"Haven't found your land-legs yet, eh, Beth?"

Annabeth laughed in spite of herself, and took a few shaky steps forward, unused to such solid, unmoving land.

After she finally got a good look around, she noticed something odd but not entirely unsurprising: everyone in the town was dressed immaculately, in crisp colored dresses, sharply tailored waistcoats with shiny gold buttons, or austere-looking soldiers' garb. Everyone looked spectacular.

And everyone was looking away from her. Avoiding her gaze, as if she were some lower-caste wench with no money. As if she were the plague and the townspeople would become infected through eye contact. Annabeth brushed off her torn dress, though it did no good; the blue cloth was hardly visible under a thick layer of accumulated grime.

"I can't _stand_ this dress anymore. It's putrid. Let's buy something new."

He raised an eyebrow, and smirked. "I can't help ye much with that, lass, seeing as a dress won't work too well on a ship. It'd be a waste to buy nice clothing if—"

"I don't want a dress. I want real pirates' clothes! I want things I can wear all the time, and I want to help on deck." And surprisingly, it was all true. Annabeth had begun to take to the pirate life quite well; she didn't mind the hard work when there was a breeze in her face and a bed to return to at night.

Connor grinned and took her hand, this time in the lead. He tugged on her arm and began to navigate the two towards a supplier, where the two would surely find suitable outfitting for a female buccaneer.

Finding and purchasing the new clothes proved much easier than Annabeth pictured. When they left the store, she was balancing three white canvas shirts, two pairs of breeches, a belt, a fine pair of boots, and a hat, just because they'd had money left over.

Annabeth felt so giddy at the thought of this new version of herself, she made a spontaneous, yet inherently right, decision.

"Connor, hand me your cutlass."

"My cutlass?"

"Cutlass, now. I'm sick of all this hair!"

Connor paused a moment, sighed, then smirked again in his usual fashion, pulling out the cutlass and handing it over. Annabeth took a deep breath, then proceeded to saw away at a great length of her hair. She wondered what people would make of her, lopping off her locks on the side of the street, but it didn't really matter. When she had finished, she tied the ponytail of hair into a knot and handed Connor his cutlass again. Annabeth's hair now rested a few inches below her shoulders, and it was cut very choppily, but she was proud. Gone were the waist-length locks, and gone was the girl who wore them. Annabeth was new again.

* * *

**So, what'd you all think? I know, I know, bitchy Rachel is overdone, but we needed a character to fill that spot. I don't have anything against Rachel (she's actually awesome and super badass in my humble opinion), so don't leave flames.**

**What'd you think of Annabeth cutting her hair?**

**We have some fun things planned for the next chapter. Enjoy :)**

**Reviews are better than pirate clothes!**

**-C and K**


	8. L'appel Du Vide

**A/N: Yep, we're terrible people. It took us WAY too many MONTHS (!) to publish this, but we hope it's worth it... hope you like it :) Make sure to leave a review with any opinions, comments, and suggestions you have. They really, genuinely help, and we read and appreciate each one!**

Annabeth's hair rested a few inches below her shoulders, and was cut very choppily, but she felt proud. Gone were the waist-length locks, and gone was the girl who wore them. Annabeth was new again.

After stopping to marvel at the luxurious items in several more streetside shops, Connor insisted that they head back toward the ship. Reluctantly, Annabeth agreed, and, arm in arm, the pair made their way back to the ship. Connor and Annabeth managed to drain his bottle of whiskey in the few short minutes they were walking back.

Stars sparkled in the cloudless sky above _the Neptune_, and Annabeth sighed contentedly, leaning into Connor's arm (now draped lackadaisically over her shoulders). She reached over and took the half-empty bottle of wine from him, taking a swig and laughing as she spilled a few drops on her new shirt.

Meanwhile, Percy watched the happy duo (couple?!) from the crow's nest, losing count of the whiskey bottles that lay empty around him. Annabeth's hair, he noticed, was shorter, choppier. It wasn't hair for a lady; it was hair for a warrior. Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, but Percy though she looked better that way. Not that he cared, right?

Connor, much drunker than Annabeth, swayed on his normally sturdy legs. Annabeth laughed, and helped him back upright. He planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek, and Annabeth giggled even more.

"Y'know...y'know Beth?" Connor began, each syllable unsteady and slurred, "We should ge' our own ship, yeah? You 'n' me, sailin' t'gether, 'dventuring..." He trailed off dreamily, then suddenly he perked up, like a puppy at the mention of treats. "I've a better idea!"

"Tell me!" Annabeth nearly shouted, blinking at the sudden outburst of noise. She wasn't as experienced with alcohol as a sailor, so she struggled to control her excitement.

"We could...we could...aw, damn, I've forgotten!" Connor pouted, and Annabeth completely lost it, bursting into peals of uncontrollable laughter.

They looked so happy together, Percy thought glumly.

"Oh, n'vermind, I've got it! We oughta get married, Beth!"

"Why, that's fantastic! How'd I not think of...why didn't I not—wait, that's not how you say it..." She frowned in frustration.

Percy clenched his fists. This was his ship, and Annabeth was HIS hostage, and Stoll would NOT marry her. Not under Percy's flag. Annabeth was his...

...his what? What was she to Percy? She didn't strike him as particularly valuable anymore; or at least, not valuable in the same way as she had seemed before. Annabeth was no longer a bargaining chip: she was, dare he say, a friend? But he'd gone and screwed it up again, damn it, he'd insulted her and lost her trust.

Were he sober, Percy would never have admitted it, but he already missed her.

Then, his alcohol-soaked brain made a decision (which seemed logical at the time). If Stoll wanted Annabeth, he'd have to take her from Percy. He'd have to win her. Percy gripped his sword, and swung a leg over the edge of the worn wooden crow's nest, shimmying unsteadily down the shrouds and slamming to the deck. Abandoning every shred of his dignity, Percy stepped forward, drawing his sword.

There was a moment of silence between the two men as they stared each other down. Connor raised an eyebrow, questioning Percy's motives, challenging him. Connor closed the distance between them and drew his own cutlass; shorter than Percy's, but more lithe, more nimble. With a flick of Connor's wrist, it slashed the air between them into calculated slivers. Percy winced despite himself. Connor stepped closer, and Percy fell backwards, catching himself against the steering wheel. The ship lurched. Connor was playing with him, God damn it. Could he not see that this was more than a game? He did not deserve to be toyed with. Annabeth did not deserve to be toyed with. She needed a man, someone who would fight his own mate for her. Was she so oblivious to Connor's childish tendencies?

Percy lunged forward out of the blue, and twisted his sword in a complicated arc, sending Connor's cutlass flying.

Connor abandoned all thoughts of self defense and went flying at Percy, fists clenched. Percy dropped his sword and the two boys tackled each other, rolling across the deck, scratching and clawing and punching until a single word pierced the air.

"STOP!" Annabeth's voice commanded from somewhere above Percy's head. She would make a good captain with a voice like that, he mused inconsequentially. Connor limped away from Percy, looking like a two year old whose hand was caught in the candy jar. Percy stood, eyes shooting daggers at Connor, as Annabeth began on some rant about respect. He loved the sound of her voice. Percy was thankful for all the whiskey he'd downed: it helped blur the pain of the small injuries across his body. Though now the whiskey seemed to have blurred more that his sensations; Percy's vision was going fuzzy as well. Annabeth's words still rang in his ears as he slumped to the ground.

When he woke, he didn't open his eyes instantly. Instead he took a few deep breaths, trying to recall what had happened just moments ago. He had fought with Stoll, then...nothing came to mind. So where was he?

A cool piece of fabric came in contact with his forehead suddenly, and Percy jumped, snapping his eyes open. It was only Annabeth, dabbing a rag to his face. Wait, what?

He swatted at her hand grumpily. "Don't need your 'elp," Percy grumbled. "You're just.. just…"

Annabeth's mouth was a thin line, reminiscent to Percy of a lit fuse. "I'm just a what, may I ask?"

Percy faltered, the alcohol in the pit of his stomach giving way to something more ominous. "You're … just… a lass."

Annabeth couldn't help but smirk at Percy's faltering cockiness. "Is that so? If that's the case, could "just a lass" do this?" And with that, she snatched the bottle of whiskey from his feeble grasp and downed it in one fell swoop. All Percy could do was stare, his mouth gaping open. Annabeth laughed as Percy hiccuped.

Annabeth's throat burned, but she feigned placidity. "Yep, you're still drunk then," Annabeth concluded, smiling. "Don't worry, you haven't missed much."

"Get offa me!" He batted her hand away again, sitting up. The sudden pains coming from various locations across his body caused Percy to wince.

"You got pretty scratched up in that 'noble' fight, Captain," Annabeth said, amusement twinkling in her eyes.

Turning away from the far-from-sober captain, Annabeth dipped the bloodstained rag into her bucket once more. From behind her, she heard a...sniffle?

Percy was staring intently at his hands, making a strange sort of pout. Annabeth stifled a snort.

"What is it, Captain?" She asked warily, unsure of what to expect from the intoxicated pirate.

"I..." he sniffled, evidently fighting back tears, "I only have eight fingers!"

Evidently distressed, he waved his hands in Annabeth's direction. She smiled, untucking the thumb from behind his left hand.

"See? There's your other one," Annabeth reassured in a tone reminiscent of her own childhood nanny.

Percy's eyes lit up suddenly, and an astonished smile crept across his face. "Do the other one!" he insisted, like an impatient toddler.

Annabeth reluctantly complied, before insisting he needed to sleep.

She bent to tuck Percy's thin sheets around his bedframe, but stopped when he took her wrist in his hand.

Annabeth froze, her eyes widening slightly. Percy had touched her casually before, jostling her into her room when he first took her captive, the occasional helping hand down from the crow's nest…

But this was different. This was intimate. Annabeth held her breath, unsure how to respond.

Percy reached up with his other hand and tucked a strand of her shortened hair behind her ear, muttering something incoherent about the color of her hair. His hand was resting on the nape of her neck, and he leaned upwards suddenly, closing the gap between the two of them.

For a moment, Annabeth's forehead was touching Percy's, and her eyes weren't quite closed, but she could almost see the concentration in his as he bridged the gap between them.

She had expected his lips to be rough, insistent, taking control and consuming her inhibitions. Instead, his kiss was needy and light, his lips clinging to hers desperately, the way a child clings to a toy. He drank her in, his hands unsure and trembling. _He's weaker than he lets on_, was all that Annabeth could think before throwing her moral compass to the side and kissing him back, hard.

Percy seemed less inebriated and far more alert than before, leaning away from the kiss, pressing a halting finger to her lips. His green eyes filling with lust as he searched her eyes hungrily. God, she could drown in those eyes. She didn't give a damn about _l'appel du vide, _to hell with having the wisdom to know she shouldn't; she'd fling herself into those eyes until she could no longer breathe. Through the alcoholic haze that clouded her mind, Annabeth considered her options. She could eschew his advances, go back to her room, spend the night being rocked to sleep by the ocean as she had every night for months. But that option, however lonely, was one she wouldn't regret. The alternative… well, the alternative sparked something deep within her that sent blood rushing to her brain, crowding out all her common sense. She grabbed Percy by the collar and leaned in.

Percy awoke to a _massive _headache and a girl in his arms, a combination that men lesser than himself would have been used to. It was more unfamiliar, however, to Percy, as he squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the light filtering through his small window. Readjusting his position slightly, Percy got a better look at Annabeth snuggled into his chest. She really was beautiful.

For the first night in months, Percy couldn't remember having a nightmare about Castellan or the map.

But there was another problem: Percy couldn't remember what had happened the night before.

Panicking, he gently shook Annabeth awake. His heart rate slowed as he watched her crinkle her nose adorably, noting that they sported identical hangovers.

Annabeth groaned, rubbing her eyes. Percy watched the same (almost comical) expression settle on her face as she took in her surroundings. He noticed the small purplish spots trailing down her neck (evidently left there by Percy), which only added to his concern about the previous night.

"Did we...?" She began, trailing off suggestively.

"I..." Percy hesitated before finishing, "I don't know.

**A/N: Ooh, tension! What'd you think? Don't worry, all will be revealed eventually. Reviews are better than that feeling you get when you shave your legs and they brush against the sheets! Seriously though, the next 5 reviewers will get lil shootouts in the next chapter!**

**-C and K**


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